


About This

by surveycorpsjean



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Getting Together, M/M, Road Trips, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 14:45:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13320384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surveycorpsjean/pseuds/surveycorpsjean
Summary: In an attempt to become friends, Steve invites Jonathan on a cross-country road trip to the beach. Totally a great idea.





	About This

**Author's Note:**

> S: Steve pov  
> J: Jonathan pov

- **S** -

“One week,” Steve says. “You’ve been working here since you were sixteen. You can ask for one week.”

Jonathan’s eyebrows raise, “One week?”

“Three days down, one night there, three days back. One week.”

Jonathan sighs, and leans against the counter. He eyes the only other woman in the shop, who’s still browsing around the jazz section.

“Why are you so adamant about me going with you?” Jonathan asks.

Steve leans from across the other side, and stares him down, “Because  _you_ have never been to a real beach.”

“Ocean City is a real beach.”

“But it’s not a  _California_ beach. You’re missing out on once of a lifetime sunsets.” Steve waves his hand around, “You’re the camera guy. You should be ecstatic right now.”

Jonathan scratches at his neck, “I don’t…Steve, you know I…I don’t really like to be that far away from home.”

“Yeah I  _do_ know. We graduated a year ago, and you still haven’t left the twenty-mile radius of Hawkins.”

“I just went to Fort Wayne last week!”

“Eighteen miles, Jonathan. I’ve seen the sign. We’ve all seen the sign.”

Jonathan looks away, obviously uncomfortable. He starts to busy himself with sorting records behind the counter.

Steve groans, and slides a little further over the counter. “Hey-  _hey-“_ he taps the glass and lowers his voice. “I know you’re worried about leaving your family.” Jonathan looks up and over to the customer still browsing, and Steve angles his head in the way. “You need a vacation. I need a vacation.  You  _especially_ need a vacation. Will is sixteen – the kid has his driver’s license, for fucks sake. They’ll be fine.”

Jonathan finally looks at him. His t-shirt sleeves are rolled up, hem tucked into a black belt, and his face has changed since highschool. Not by much – he still has the dark circles and the squinty eyes, but his jawline a little sharper, acne scares all healed into something on the edge of handsome. Like the guy from Grease. But uh, less greasy.

He runs a hand though his hair and sighs, “I don’t have any money.”

“I do,” Steve says. He thinks, “Well, my parents do. I work for my dad, but he said he’d cover my gas if I fuck out of town for a week.”

Jonathan gives him a look, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Steve stops. Well, it’s not to say he doesn’t have anyone else, but – he really doesn’t have anyone else. Any new friends he did manage to make by senior year left for college ten months ago.

After the second disaster with the upside down, Steve and Jonathan didn’t fight anymore.  They became, more or less, acquaintances. Steve left Nancy to his care (or the other way around), and they were horribly in love until graduation. Nancy sometimes calls Steve from college, just to say hi, and that’s when he found out two months ago that she had broken up with Jonathan.

Distance makes the heart grow fonder. Except when it doesn’t.   

Jonathan isn’t acting any different from how he usually does. Quiet, kept to himself. Working at the same record store, now a manager at almost twenty.

But Steve knows he works day and night to support his mom. He knows he didn’t go to college because of what happened to Will. He knows he can’t bear to be away from a phone, in case something goes wrong – even if the town has been quiet ever since. And he knows it breaks Ms. Byer’s heart.

Jonathan is still looking at him, skeptical from behind the register, so Steve shrugs, and tries not to look as nervous as he feels.

“No particular reason.”

 

\- **J** –

 

“You think you brought enough clothes?”

“We’re crossing like, three climates,” Steve flips down his sunglasses, and turns the key. “Give me a break.”

Jonathan turns to look at the back seat, as Steve pulls away from his house. Two blankets, two pillows. There’s a case of water in the trunk, along with both of their bags, and a particular baseball bat. Some of Jonathan’s books are shoved under the seat.

Jonathan turns back around, nerves an anxious pit in his stomach. He better not regret this.

In the end, it was his mom who pressured him to go. She said it’d be good for him. Jonathan couldn’t bear to disappoint her.

He looks over to Steve, who’s apparently talking already.

“What?” Jonathan asks.

“I  _said,_ ” Steve points, “you can play what you want. I know that bag by your feet isn’t just full of film.”

Jonathan breathes a laugh, “I only brought a few tapes.”

“A few. Ten or fifty?”

“Nine,” Jonathan says, and leans over to dig through his bag. “It’s a thirty-hour drive.”

“Go on then.”

They’re in Steve’s Volvo. Jonathan has better speakers, but at least Steve’s car won’t break down five hours in. Jonathan pops in a tape, and turns the stereo partway up.

Steve taps his fingers against the steering wheel, and starts to really gun it. They’re out of town in fifteen minutes, now on the open freeway. Jonathan resists the urge to look back.

It’s a little awkward. Jonathan isn’t sure what to do with his hands. He doesnt want to be the one to break the silence, so he glances over to Steve.

He’s so different now. His hair is still stupid, glasses still tacky, but he works hard in his dad’s warehouse, and Jonathan can respect that. He’s become more likeable. Maybe that’s why Jonathan said yes. 

The Harringtons have the largest, loneliest house on their cult-de-sac. Steve’s parents are never home, and his buddies left for school, and he sees him always sitting alone at Benny’s, and it makes Jonathan wonder what happened. Why they stopped talking.

It was jarring, to say the least, when Steve stepped in his store and demanded they go on some cross-country journey to the beach. Jonathan would still think it a joke, if it weren’t for the  _You are Leaving Hawkins:_ sign they just passed.

He has a lot of questions. He’ll save them for later.

Jonathan looks back over to Steve. God, he hates that strand of hair that hangs between his eyes. 

 

- **S** -

 

Crossing to Illinois is easy. Its a lot of flat green grass, with murky skies and fluffy clouds. The roads weave in winding circles, but the exits are easy to drive by. They’re at St. Louis within four hours. They stop for burgers, and hop back on the road.

It’s quiet. Steve doesn’t mind – he didn’t expect anything else – but Jonathan looks tense. He keeps staring out of the window, eyes glossed over. He’s taken a few pictures, but that’s about it.

Another hour in, Steve tucks his sunglasses in the middle console and turns down the music, getting Jonathan’s attention.

“Doing alright?”

Jonathan turns, “Hm? Yeah.” He rubs his eyes, “Do you need me to drive?”

“Nope,” Steve points towards the glove compartment, “But if you could tell me which freeway to switch to, I’d appreciate it.”

“Oh, sure.” Jonathan pops it open, and starts to unfold the map. It takes him a moment to track where they are. He looks out the window and squints from the setting sun, “Uhhh…take the 270 to the 44. I think.”

Steve shrugs, “Alrighty then.” He starts watching for the exits.

“We sleeping in the car tonight?”

“Well, if we can get to Springfield by like, nine, then we can get a motel room.”

Jonathan nods, “Okay. Just let me know if you want me to drive.”

“Yeah. And you let me know if you want to take a picture of something.”

Jonathan’s face lightens a little. He reaches down between his legs to his bag, and rummages for his camera. He fiddles with it for a little, before he looks over, and snaps one of Steve.

Steve scrambles, “Hey! That’s not what I meant.”

Jonathan grins and looks to his camera. He snaps another, of the dash, “There’s nothing but grass out there.”

“Wow, so I’m prettier than dirt? Thank you,” Steve teases. Jonathan laughs, and looks away. Steve jabs, “Hey, at least you’re smiling.”

“Huh?”

“You’ve been broody all day,” Steve grips the wheel, and looks back over the road. “Like, I know I dragged you along, but damn. I was starting to think I really  _dragged_ you.”

“I’m sorry,” Jonathan says, surprising Steve. “I’ve just. Been nervous, you know.”

“They’re okay,” Steve tells him, with a smile. “I promise, dude. I told Dustin to keep an eye on Will.”

Jonathan rolls his eyes and laughs, “Oh thank god. Dustin is on the watch.”

“Hey, that kid has grown into quite the little man. He’s taller than you now.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me.”

Steve laughs, and Jonathan laughs with him, and Steve is so startled by it he almost misses his exit.

 

\--

 

They do make it to Springfield by nine. They find a Motel6 and get a room with two twins. Jonathan finds a payphone, and comes back in a way better mood than before.

He – shit _–_ he nearly skips into the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Hey.”

Steve turns, from where he’s laying on his stomach, working on snack food he got at the corner convenience store.

“Hi.”

Jonathan crawls onto his bed, “Whatcha’ watching?”

“Uhh…” Steve looks to the T.V. “The Partridge family.”

“Wow,” Jonathan stares. “There’s nothing better on?”

“Dude, this motel has like, two channels.”

Jonathan makes a face, and rolls over to rummage through his bag. “Great.”

“How’s your mom?”

“Good. Will is good. Everything’s fine.”

“See man,” Steve chews. “Nothing to worry about.”

Jonathan doesn’t reply. He grabs a change of clothes and gestures to the shower, and Steve waves him off. He doesn’t shower for very long, but thats not a surprise, because the shower smelled a little wonky when Steve used it. Jonathan comes out wearing a t-shirt and boxers. He towels off his wet hair, and tosses it over the top of the door.

Steve isn’t brave enough to straight up stare, but he can see Jonathan’s reflection in the foggy bathroom mirror, and that’s good enough.

He always thought Jonathan was handsome.  A weird kind of handsome, to match all the other things that make Jonathan strange. Of course, Steve would never ever, ever, like,  _ever_ tell anyone that, but, Steve can still appreciate it. Jonathan is soft and scraggly, with pretty eyes over dark circles and rough elbows on sturdy arms. He’s got cute little thighs too-

-shit, but that’s not the point. Not of this – of bringing him here. Because Steve thinks he’s cute. Steve thinks a lot of things are cute. Ducks are cute. Old ladies are cute. This is supposed to be good for them, make them friends. Get them away from Hawkins. Make Jonathan stop thinking about Nancy and Will and all the things that go on in that head of his. 

A shutter goes off, and Steve looks over to see him taking a picture of the city out the window. When Jonathan turns around, Steve looks back to the T.V., and reaches for a lighter.

 

- **J** -

 

Jonathan stands at the driver-side door and argues, until Steve agrees to give him his keys.

As soon as they leave the city, Steve passes out in the passenger seat. Jonathan turns down his music, and tries to avoid the potholes in the road.

Steve acts tough, but Jonathan knows he didn’t sleep well last night. Jonathan didn’t either. But he’s used to it. Steve probably isn’t.

He snores a little bit. Jonathan almost wishes he could take a picture and drive at the same time.

Even with minimal sleep, Jonathan is feeling better than yesterday. Crossing the border from Missouri to Oklahoma is nothing but flat road. Grass, farmland, a gas station and more grass. But the sky is blue and Steve is curled up against the seatbelt, and a weight lifts from Jonathan’s chest. Something he didn’t realize was there. Everything is fine, Mom and Will are fine.

The longer the road stretches on, the more Jonathan can let go.

When Steve wakes up, he lets out a big dramatic yawn, and presses his arms to the roof of the car. He flops back in the seat and rubs at his eyes.

“Time?”

“Almost one.”

“Where are we?”

“Uh…Oklahoma.”

Steve sits straight up, and looks out the window. He rolls it down, and the air ruffles his hair around.

“Sunflowers!”

“We’re an hour away from Tulsa.” Jonathan says. “I think we should stop for lunch.”

“Definitely.” Steve pops his seatbelt. “But we should also stop now. I have to piss.”

“Alright.”

The highway is empty. Jonathan takes the opportunity to take pictures of the flowers. Steve yells from down the road,  _“Don’t take a picture of me!”_ and Jonathan yells back  _“I’m not – idiot!”_

Steve takes the keys back. He’s a faster driver, so they get to Tulsa in forty. He finds a pancake house, and they figure breakfast for lunch isn’t so bad, when you haven’t even had breakfast to begin with.

It’s a Tuesday, so it’s essentially dead. Steve folds up his legs in the booth, and decides between pancakes and waffles, before he decides to get both.

“Whatya’ mean you don’t like syrup?” Steve asks, with his mouth full.

“It’s okay,” Jonathan shrugs. “But I’d rather eat them dry.”

_“Dry?!”_

“Wet bread is gross.”

“Wet-“ Steve sputters, pressing his hand to the table. “It’s not  _bread._  It’s a damn pancake.”

“Why do you care how I eat my breakfast?” Jonathan asks. He’s not so much annoyed, but more amused. Steve cares a lot about little things, he’s learning. Like syrup with pancakes, or the difference between east and west coast beaches.

“God, you’re just as bad as Nancy,” Steve rolls his eyes.

That’s right. Nancy didn’t like syrup either. Jonathan turns down towards his food, and Steve starts to backpedal.

“Oh shit- I’m sorry.”

Jonathan looks over and swallows, “Huh? You’re fine.”

Steve goes quiet. He picks at the side of his waffles, and Jonathan can tell he wants to ask something, but hasn’t figured out how. He spent fifteen minutes on his hair this morning (good grief), and it’s ruined from the nap he took in the car. Well, ruined is subjective. More, messy, strands falling in his face, and he keeps having to push them back.

Finally he asks, “Um. How are you doing. With uh. The breakup.”

Jonathan shrugs, “Fine. It was kinda’ mutual.”

Steve looks shocked, “What, really?”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re not like, devastated.”

Jonathan doesn’t know how to say it. He lands on, “Well. It was unfortunate. But I-“

“-saw it coming?” Steve finishes.

“Uh. Yeah.”

“I know. Um. How you feel.” Steve gestures with his fork, and then busies himself with a sip of orange juice.

Jonathan stares. He watches him look from the table, to his plate, to the window. Jonathan asks, “Do you still love her?”

Steve chokes, and sets down his cup. “Huh? No. Not at all. Well- not like that.”

It’s surprisingly genuine.

“Are you…seeing someone else?” Jonathan tries.

Steve laughs, “No.”

Jonathan nods, and lets it go. Steve is different. Different from the Steve in highschool. Even, different from the Steve with the baseball bat. He’s someone that Jonathan doesn’t know, someone he  _thought_ he did, maybe. But this side of him is new. 

Steve tries to say something with his mouth full, but he ends up biting his lip so hard he bleeds. He whines as he daps the blood with a napkin, and Jonathan thinks, maybe not so different.

 

- **S** -

 

The air shifts after lunch.

 

Steve is surprised to learn that Jonathan is not a lovesick dog. Not heartbroken like Steve was.

But maybe, looking for what Steve is.

It’s just a theory.

Jonathan is opening up more, the longer they drive. He starts to roll the windows down and photograph the passing cars. He shoves in a mix tape and talks about music that Steve has never heard of.

“Of course you haven’t heard of it,” Jonathan says, self-righteous. “They don’t play  _good_ music on the radio.”

Steve goes along with it. Jonathan has a nice speaking voice. It’s soft and gravelly, and Steve pokes and prods to get him to talk more.

Jonathan has been through a lot. Steve isn’t surprised that he has walls (some of which, might be Steve’s fault). But seeing him be animated, an actual nineteen-year-old kid behind stone – that’s the exciting part. That’s what has Steve smiling.

The sun has gone down, and they’re past Oklahoma City when Foreigner comes on Jonathan’s fourth mixtape.

“Hey, I know this!” Steve laughs. Jonathan folds his legs under him and grins,

“I’d kick you if you didn’t.”

Steve props his knee against the wheel and hangs his hand out the open window, singing  _you’re as cold as ice!-_

“Oh my god, stop,” Jonathan laughs. He reaches over and holds the wheel when Steve lets go.

“You don’t like my beautiful singing voice?” Steve pretends to be offended. He takes the wheel back, and yells the lyrics louder, just to annoy him. Jonathan turns the music up so loud the speakers start to pop, but Kiss comes on next, and they both end up singing bad anyway.

 

- **J** -

 

When Steve can’t keep his eyes open, they get gas, find a car park in Texas, and fold back the seats. Steve pulls out blankets, even if it’s not that cold. Jonathan watches him burrito himself up behind the steering wheel, before looking out and up through the windshield.

Jonathan can’t tell what he’s thinking. They’re in the mountains of northern Texas, far from the big city, so the stars are bright. Like back home. The silence is long and comforting. Crickets are out there, but not for much longer, with fall well on its way.

He shifts, and tries not to think about home. They’re fine. Everything’s fine. He’ll call home tomorrow. 

“Do you regret coming yet?” Steve asks, breaking the silence.

Jonathan shrugs, and kicks his feet up on the dash.

“Not yet.”

Steve reaches into the middle console, and pulls out a cigarette and lighter. He turns the car on long enough to roll down the window, so he can flick ashes out into the dirt. Jonathan isn’t a fan of cigarettes, but Steve smokes easily. Like someone who’s been doing it for a long time. He lets the smoke roll out of his mouth, holds it, before it bleeds from his lips.

“Do you smoke?”

“I have,” Jonathan shrugs. “But it burns too much.”

“It hurts less when you shotgun it,” Steve says, and then immediately looks to the ceiling, “Fuck, why did I say that?”

Jonathan laughs, and it feels too loud for the silence of the car. “Really?”

Steve looks back over, and they’re close, no closer than they have been, but it’s dark, and Jonathan can still see how big and brown his eyes are.

“Yeah. That’s how I learned.”

He’s still anxious, from not calling home today. So he says, “Show me then,” in hopes that the nicotine will push his heart back into his chest.

Steve stares a moment longer. He shrugs to himself, and lifts the cigarette, “When I point, you breathe in. Don’t pull away too soon.”

“Okay.”

Steve turns the cigarette around, and pulls the burning end carefully between his lips. He sucks in hard, smoke filtering off the end -  and then he leans close, tentative, but practiced, like he’s done it before. Jonathan lets him hover close. There’s space between them, enough for a few fingers,  _“a bible length”,_ like what they used to say in school, but Jonathan can’t stop staring at his mouth. His hair is everywhere, and Jonathan is almost distracted by the need to tuck it behind his ear.

Steve points, and Jonathan nods. Smoke drifts between them as Steve lets it out between his lips.  Jonathan has to tip his head to inhale it; the smoke fills him up, and he chases it. He tips his head closer, and it reminds him so much of leaning in for a kiss, he suddenly coughs and pulls away. Steve turns back and breathes the rest out the window.

“You almost had it!” Steve lightly hits him, voice rough.

“Hurts less,” Jonathan coughs into his elbow, heart racing, “But still hurts.” 

Steve shrugs, “Practice,” and takes another drag.

\- -

New Mexico is like nothing he’s ever seen. Trees fade into grass. Green turns yellow, then orange, then rocky red as deserts stretch across the road. Sometimes there’s big rolling mountains, and sometimes it carves into canyons in the ground.

He makes Steve pull over, so he can take a picture of the cactus that grows in weird bunches. It’s warm. Neither of them need a jacket anymore. Steve pushes up his sleeves and undoes his collar, sitting on the hot roof of the Volvo, staring out at the dirt with his stupid sunglasses, and it’s so photographic, Jonathan can’t help but take a picture of him too.

They take turns driving, because it’s a long, long day if they want to make it to Arizona by night. Steve starts up a game of I Spy, which is worthless, because there’s nothing but cars, dirt, and road signs. Jonathan plays along anyways.

White cars are five points. Blue cars are two. Red trucks are fifty. Jonathan wins.

The car is stuffy from being together for so long. Jonathan feels restless behind the wheel, but Steve looks too content, curled up against the window, so Jonathan sticks it out.

 

- **S** -

 

It was Jonathan’s bright fucking idea to stop for coffee at eight at night, so by the time they reach a motel at eleven, they’re wired from sitting in a car all day.

“I am not swimming in that cesspool.”

“Come on,” Jonathan kicks back in the water, “we’re gross from not showering for two days anyways.”

“So I’ll go  _shower,”_ Steve stands, arms crossed at the edge of the indoor pool. It smells like too much chlorine, and, well, motel. It’s quiet, either from the other tenants being asleep, or non-fucking existent. They’re in the middle of Nowhere, Arizona, and they were lucky enough to find this Super 8.

“Steve,” Jonathan tries. “You’re the one who dragged me into this. Get in the pool.”

Steve groans, and chucks off his shirt. He’s in the shorts he’s supposed to wear at the beach  _tomorrow,_ but now they’ll be all wet and cold, which is always the absolute worst.

Whatever, Steve steps into the water, and it’s actually kinda’ nice. He wades into it, and flips off Jonathan when he starts to clap.

“You did it!”

“Shut up.”

He holds his breath and dunks underwater, flipping his hair out of his eyes when he comes back up. Jonathan is floating on his back, kicking around in the deep end. Steve pushes him, because it’s funny to see him roll over and sputter.

Steve gets dunked for it, to his own surprise.

“Where does your weird strength come from?” Steve holds up one of his arms, which is just... a normal arm. Soft.

Jonathan yanks his arm back, and splashes his face, “All my compressed rage at the government.”

“Stick it to the man,” Steve shouts, and tackles him back into the water. They wrestle around in the pool, kicking because it’s fun. It feels good to be out of the car, and the water feels nice, not that he’ll tell Jonathan that.

It must be past midnight by the time they’re tiredly laying around in the shallow end. Jonathan is floating by the steps, head propped on his arm over the edge of the pool, staring out the window and into the motel courtyard. He has beauty marks that litter down his back, with knobbed shoulder blades and a sweeping waist, and he looks beautiful. He really looks beautiful.

Jonathan turns his way, when Steve comes to float by him.

“Tired?” He asks.

Steve shrugs, “No more than usual.”

The pool lights flicker across their faces. Steve draws circles in the water with his fingers, watching his feet distort under the reflection. The quiet, echoing sound of the pool makes it feel like a cave. A cave in the middle of nowhere, far from home.

Jonathan’s voice is rumbly and low, but it still sounds loud as it echoes.

“Hey.”

Steve looks up, “Hm?”

“What happened?”

“Huh?”

“To us, I mean.” Jonathan rolls his head off his arms, and props his chin in his hand. “After – in Junior year – with the,  _you know._ We were close. Kinda. Close.”

Steve runs his hand through his drying hair, slicking it back on his head. He sighs, “You…were with Nancy. I figured it was weird, right? I didn’t want to get in the way.”

“Nancy and I never thought that,” Jonathan says, seriously.

“Yeah, well. I did. I had other people anyways.”

“But even when she left,” Jonathan rubs his nose. “You didn’t speak to me until – until last week.”

Steve chews on the inside of his cheek. He shifts in the water, “There was uh…stuff. Going on. A breakup I was going through. I wasn’t really talking to anyone.”

Jonathan’s eyebrows squish together, “A breakup? Nancy never told me you were dating anyone.”

“Nancy didn’t know.”

“Oh.”

Steve shrugs, “It wasn’t anything serious. But it hit me hard, for some reason. I think – I dunno’. With everything. Fuckin’ monsters.”

“I get it,” Jonathan says, and it goes quiet.

Steve softly pushes water his way, just to keep his hands busy.

“Did you date before Nancy?”

“Date?” Jonathan shrugs, and sits back on the step. “Not really. Nothing more than a few weeks.”

The tenseness in the air dissipates a little. Steve feels a little less like walking on ice. Maybe thin ground, now.

“Do you ever have any regrets from school?” Steve looks up, sinking down into the water so it reaches his chin. “Like, ‘man, I really wish I had just said something’. Kissed someone you wanted to kiss. Fucked someone you wanted to fuck.”

“I try not to have regrets,” Jonathan says honestly. “I do what I think is right. And if not...well. The past is the past.”

Steve nods, and blows a few bubbles in the water.

“My first kiss was in elementary. I kinda’ regret it now. It wasn’t special or amazing or anything that Nancy had to say about first kisses.”

Jonathan wordlessly nods. His hair is starting to dry, and it’s fuzzy from the chlorine. Water drips down his neck, over his shoulders, and he shivers a little, the movement not lost to Steve.

Jonathan shakes him from his thoughts by sinking back into the water, closer now.

“Have you ever kissed a boy?”

Steve isn’t as surprised by the question as he should be.

A month ago, there was a huge scandal. It was the talk of the town; two middle school boys that got caught kissing by the quarry. It sparked a huge debate of right and wrong, of religion in schools, yada yada. Steve stayed out of it.

He isn’t sure what prods him to be honest. Whether it’s the quiet of the motel, the lights of the pool. The way their hands are pruney from the water, backs sore from the long drive, eyes tired, but not sleepy.  Jonathan is looking at him openly, no stone walls, no sign of judgement. So Steve trusts him.

“Yes.”

There’s a pause.

“What- really?”

Steve shrugs, “Yeah.”

“Seriously?”

“Uh-huh.”

“On a dare?”

Steve feels his face go warm. He plays with a strand of hair, “Dude. I’m Bi.”

Jonathan stares, mouth opening. Steve stares back. It’s out there, right in the open, so  _there_  that Steve wishes he could grab on and take it back.

Jonathan starts to say something – but he breaks out in hard, shoulder-wracking laughter.

“You-“ he laughs, sinking back in the water. “That – ahha – that was – how did you look so serious?!” He cackles, “I’m talking to Straight Steve. My bad.”

Steve isn’t laughing. He narrows his eyes.  “Yeah?”

Jonathan is giggling now, wiping at his face. “Stupid question. Water is wet, right? You had me there. Bi, that’s funny. ”

Steve lets out a hard exhale, heavy tar settling in his stomach as he moves past him on the steps, and starts to get out of the pool.

“Going back already?”

Steve whips around, and points, “You know?? That’s – that’s what I  _hate_ about you.”

Jonathan’s face goes flat.

“What?”

“You- you,” Steve looks around for his towel, and realizes he forgot it. He reaches for his shirt, “You think you’ve got it  _all_ figured out. You always – you always think you know how the world works. But you don’t, asshole. You –“ he cuts himself off, and throws his shirt on, getting it wet as he shoves on his sandals. “Whatever. Laugh it up.”

“Hey-“ Jonathan stands up out of the water, but Steve stomps off outside, and throws the door shut behind him, face hot.

He gets partway through the courtyard before he realizes he doesn’t have the room key. He’s still burning, despite shivering from the water. They’re in a ghost town, all the adjacent roads are dead. So Steve walks around to the front of the property, just to clear his head. His chest feels like lead. He needs a cigarette, he needs alcohol-

There’s flip-flops against concrete: “Steve!”

He starts to walk a little faster, but a hand grips his shoulder and pulls, “Steve!- Stop-“

“Go back,” Steve snaps. “I’m just walking.”

“What’s wrong?” Jonathan jogs a little to catch back up with him, “Harrington! Come on, we were doing so well.”

“Can’t you let me just embarrass myself in peace?”

“No,” Jonathan pulls back on his shoulder, and Steve finally stops walking. “I didn’t mean to laugh at you.”

Steve grits, “I was being serious.”

“I realize that now,” Jonathan says, and suddenly Steve is very aware of where they’re standing, soaking wet. Steve looks away.

“I don’t know why I told you.”

“Because we’re friends,” Jonathan states, headstrong, feet planted, jaw so set, Steve has no choice to believe him. “So you can tell me.”

 

- **J** -

 

He manages to hurdle Steve back into the motel room, and into the shower. Desert or not, it gets cool at night, and they’re starting to snuffle from their damp clothes.

To their luck, the motel didn’t have separate twins, only queens, and they couldn’t afford two. Four hours ago, they figured sharing a bed was no big deal. Now it’s a little awkward, as Jonathan shuffles out of the shower, and sets his toothbrush in his bag.

Steve is staring at the T.V., cigarette in hand, and he looks too serious.

Jonathan sits on his side of the bed. He opens his mouth to say something, but Steve beats him to it.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“We’re supposed to hit LA by tomorrow.” Steve rubs his nose. “I didn’t mean to make things awkward.”

“You didn’t,” Jonathan affirms. He hesitates, before poking into his shoulder. “Tell me about the boy you kissed.” 

“Don’t patronize me.”

”I swear to god, I’m not.”

Steve looks over to him. All the lamps are off, with just the T.V. for light. It’s almost three a.m. Who cares.

He shrugs, and fluffs his hair. It’s nice without product, soft and curly.

“It was – it was stupid.”

“Obviously not.”

Steve gives a laugh, “I was in  _love_ with him. I was so, so in love with him.”

“When? Who?”

“Do you remember Aaron Henderson?”

“Um…” Jonathan scratches his neck. He’s so bad with names. “Football team?”

“Yep. Linebacker.” Steve grins, “I kissed him freshman year.”

Jonathan stares, hoping he’ll continue. He’s not sure why his heart is beating so quickly, but he ignores it, as to not scare Steve away again.

“And?”

Steve shrugs, “We hooked up. We both kinda – we didn’t know what we were doing. Sometimes we’d date girls and still sleep together. I guess it was cheating.” He reaches over to stub the cigarette out in the ash tray. “We called it off when he got a steady girlfriend sophmore year. That’s when I got with Nancy.”

“Did you still love him?”

“Not really?” Steve sighs. “Shit, I don’t know. But after – you know, with Will – you and Nancy were happy together, and everyone was going on like it never happened, and I just  _couldn’t_ –“ he makes a frustrated gesture around his head. “I felt like I was the only one that remembered.”

“That’s not true,” Jonathan snaps.

Steve waves him off, “I know, okay? But I went to Aaron because I just, I needed to not exist for like, a night. We had sex and he left me tied to the bed because, apparently he’d gotten into the religion shit. Said he never wanted to see me again.” He snaps his fingers, “Then graduation happened.”

Jonathan’s face sours.

“What a  _dick.”_

Steve breaks out laughing, and hits his head against the back of the bedframe.

“I feel weird. I’ve never told anyone that.”

“Not even Nancy.”

It’s not a question. Steve nods.  Jonathan’s chest twists, not sure what to do. He’s not good at this – but he hates the far away look on Steve’s face. Jonathan never thought him any deeper than a kiddie pool, but he’s picking at a stray thread like Jonathan might leave him tied to the bed too. 

“I felt disgusting,” Steve says. “But I couldn’t really kid myself any longer.”

”I hate labels,” Jonathan says quickly, suddenly feeling raw. The light from the T.V. flashes from the cartoon on screen. He continues, “So I never put one on myself. Mostly because I didn’t know how to differentiate between the girl I kissed in middle school, and the guy who made out with me in the darkroom.”

Now it’s Steve’s turn to gape. He stares, mouth open, and then shuts it quickly. The T.V. flashes again, and Steve scrambles to turn it off. Jonathan slides down into the bed, and stares up at the chipped ceiling.

It’s way too quiet now. Steve is still sitting up, staring at something, whatever, Jonathan can’t see.

Jonathan says, brave now in the dark, “I think. We’re always judging people for the stuff we’re going through ourselves.”

Steve finally crawls under the blankets. The springs groan as he settles in. 

“I guess there’s something nice about not feeling like the only one.”

Jonathan reaches over and slaps his chest, and Steve lets out an  _oof-_

“Cheer up. We’re going to your beach tomorrow, aren’t we?”

Steve gasps, “You’re right!” He reaches over and shakes his shoulder, “You better – you better not have used all your film dude – you’re, you’re gonna’ love it man.”

Jonathan laughs and pushes him off, almost over the edge of the bed.

“Seriously, the sand is so soft and the waves! I’ll show you how to body surf – and there’s little sandcrabs-“

Jonathan looks over at the clock that now reads  _3:45_ He takes his own pillow, and slaps Steve over the head with it.

 

4:06. It’s quiet.

 

- **S** -

 

He feels pounds lighter. This must be how a snake feels, when they shed all that skin. Steve’s neighbor used to have a snake.

They only got a few hours of sleep. Unfortunately, they need to get on the road by ten, so they can reach the beach by one.

They take turns driving again. Steve likes when Jonathan drives, because, while he goes a little slower, he drives smoother. Relaxed. One hand on the wheel, the other out the window.

Steve takes a power nap, and then drives the rest of the way. They hit LA traffic, and it takes an extra hour, because they get lost in the spaghetti bowl of freeways. There’s nothing like this in Indiana – and Steve can hardly remember the drive from when he was a kid. They argue over the map, until Steve tells Jonathan to fuck off and sleep, he’ll figure it out himself. And he does, duh, he’s awesome. 

When they start to roll up on the waves, he slaps Jonathan across the chest and shouts  _we’re here!_ Jonathan jolts awake, a fight or flight response, and Steve cackles as he hits back.

They roll down the windows. The seabreeze blows through the car like a breath of fresh air. Jonathan closes his eyes and inhales, and Steve finds himself breathing in with him.

The water is blue over the hills. White sand, blankets and umbrellas and babies and bikinis. Paradise.

“Looks the same as Ocean City,” Jonathan teases, and Steve punches him as they park.

They’ll check into a motel later, he figures. But there’s still sun, and they’ve been in a car for three full days, so they take turns changing into their swimsuits in the car, before Steve grabs their beach towels and locks up the trunk.

With sunscreen on his nose, and little green sunglasses on his head, Jonathan takes his camera carefully out on the sand. He’s taking pictures of, dunno, something – Steve isn’t paying attention. He's more concerned with finding the perfect spot. 

Steve lays down the towels and shouts him over. They’re not too far from the lifeguard post – but close to the water.

Steve flops back on the sand, “Ohhh my god. I missed this.”

Feet patter over, and Jonathan sits on the towel. He looks like a little vampire, dressed in a black shirt and swim trunks, pale under the sun. 

The sound of the waves crashing against the sea, seagulls up ahead, laughter down the boardwalk;  Steve wishes he stole one of those video cameras from his mom.

“Hm,” Jonathan stares, flipping down his glasses. “All for this, huh?”

“All for this.”

 

Steve sleeps, while Jonathan goes off to take pictures of shells and houses and whatever, sand. Steve tans under the sun, and feels himself heal under it too.

 

- **J** -

 

The sun is down by the water, and Jonathan squints to look over at Steve. They never stopped for lunch, so he's been ignoring the way his stomach is slowly eating itself for Steve's sake. He can never bear to wake him up. 

However, Steve rolls over on his own, and flips up his glasses.

"You awake?" 

"I'm here," Jonathan stretches. His skin is warm, but he worries about a burn, even after all the sunblock he used. 

Steve yawns, and shoves his feet into the sand. "Yo, I'm hungry." 

"Thank god. I'm actually starving." 

"Shit, you should've hit me," Steve sits up. He ruffles the sand out of his hair, and Jonathan makes a face, pulling his camera out of the way. 

"You're fine. But we should go. I’m sweating through my shirt.”

”Then stop wearing black.”

Jonathan ingnores him, ”Should we go check into the motel?” 

"Nah, we'll do that later," Steve stands, suddenly wide awake. "The car is fine where it is. The pier is like - " he squints, and then points, "only a few blocks that way." 

“Then lead on, Captain.”

They lock the towels in the trunk, and grab their wallets from their jean pockets.

Jonathan follows his lead to the pier. The boardwalk is bustling with energy and people, sun-kissed skin that Jonathan secretly wants to photograph and keep. Steve walks a pace in front, head tipping this way and that, looking between the ocean and the homes that line the sidewalk. He looks so in his element, hair extra wavy from the salt, bright-eyed like a dog. Handsome, is the word Jonathan lands on. 

Steve suddenly turns, "So?" 

"Huh?" 

"What sounds good?" He gestures to all the restaurants lining the pier. 

"Uh," Jonathan shrugs. "I don't know." 

"Come on, this is Newport bay-be~" Steve grins, and his good mood is infectious. "Sandwiches? Pasta?" 

Jonathan smiles, and points across the way, "Pizza?" 

An arm slings around his shoulders, "You're speaking my language." 

It's a shoebox sized pizza parlor, but it's packed with attractive people in swimsuits and sweatshirts. Steve is still shirtless, and it doesn't seem to bother him at all. He fits in way better than Jonathan.

He sits back and watches Steve order. He's already got tan-lines around his hips, from the swim trunks. His hair is still a little sandy, but he's smiling like a million bucks to the girl across the counter. The girl smiles back, and they're saying something Jonathan can't hear, and oh, they're flirting. Figures. 

Steve waves him over. Jonathan rolls his eyes, and walks to the counter. 

"Pepperoni or Sausage?" 

Jonathan gives him a flat look, "I told you whatever." 

"But this sweetheart is giving us a free pizza," Steve winks at her. "She said whatever we wanted." 

Jonathan looks past Steve, "You don't have to do that miss." 

She giggles, cute and blonde and young, "We always make too many around closing anyways." 

"We'll do pepperoni," Steve grins. "Thanks beautiful." 

"You're welcome," she hands him his change back. "Are you guys tourists?" 

"You could say that." 

"I'm a local," she smiles. "Annie. Everyone who works at the pier usually holds a party Friday nights. You down to come?" 

Steve immediately opens his mouth, but looks over to Jonathan, as he’s trying to shy away from the bar. Steve looks back and says, "Thanks for the invite, but we've already got plans." 

Jonathan starts, "We do?-" but Steve elbows him, and Jonathan bites down. 

"Suit yourself," Annie smiles, and Steve waves goodbye. 

 As soon as they sit down, Jonathan nudges him, "You could've gone without me." 

"Dude, I’m not going to leave you alone in some motel," Steve arranges the salt shakers on the table into a perfect line. "That's shitty." 

Not to say that he's surprised, but lets be honest. Jonathan is a little surprised. And...touched?

"Don't give me that look-" Steve points, shocking him quiet, "-I’m not that big of an asshole." 

Jonathan smiles, and points to Steve’s douchey sunglasses still pushed up in his hair, "Could've fooled me." 

Steve snorts, and goes to pull them out. They've gotten tangled from the sea-salt and the sand, hair now wrapped around the screws by the lens. 

"Ow, ow ow-" Steve pulls and makes it worse.  Jonathan takes pity on him, and leans over the table to help. He still laughs. 

"Stop pulling-" 

"I've got it!" 

"Just sit still-" 

The glasses eventually come free, as well as a few strands of hair, and Steve ends up laughing with him. 

 

They part ways after the pizza. Steve drops him off and tells him to book a room, while he goes to get gas, and pick up a few things from the convenience store. Jonathan doesn't mind moving their bags up to the room. 

It's a shitty LA Super 8, with peeling paint and stiff beds, but there's no bugs, so Jonathan is fine with it. The bathroom smells a little funky, but don't they all. Thankfully, they were able to get a room with twin beds again. Jonathan flips on the radio, in hopes of anything worth listening to. He finds one station that isn't all pop, and settles on it. 

He's fiddling with his camera when Steve nearly kicks down the door, holding a paper bag. 

"Hey!" 

Jonathan sits up, staring. "What's that?" 

"Rum and coke dude." Steve sets the bag down on the desk by the T.V. stand. "We're not driving anywhere tomorrow." 

"How did you get that?" 

"Fake ID's will get you far in life," Steve flashes his wallet, and sets that on the table too. "Or, moderately far." 

"Far enough," Jonathan decides, and reaches over to pop open the bottle of rum. Steve flashes him a smile. 

 

- **S** - 

 

He's warm and happy from the beach sun, fuzzy and simmering from the alcohol. The crap motel radio is playing seventies disco, because that's the only thing they could agree on. Steve is hanging halfway off his bed, giggly only because  _Jonathan_ is giggly. 

Jonathan’s face is pink, but you'd never know he spent a day at the beach. His hair is a little blonder, maybe. He's lounging the opposite way on his twin, cup balanced in his hand. Ice from the vending machine sits melting off the table, along with a few empty cans of coke. 

"Uhh, your turn." 

"This is stupid," Jonathan says, clinking the ice around in his solo cup. "Aren't you supposed to play this with multiple people?" 

"And?" 

Steve watches him sigh, and slouch against the headboard. "Never have I ever shotgunned a beer." 

"That is lame as hell and a total callout," Steve says, and sits up only long enough to take a swig of rum, and flop back. "Why not?" 

"Beer is gross." 

"You say that, but do you really mean it?" 

"Uh, yes?" Jonathan rubs at his eyes. "It tastes like piss." 

"How do you know what piss tastes like?" 

"Are you seven?" 

"Never have I ever been seven," Steve says. 

Jonathan laughs, "That doesn't -" 

"Skipped right over," he continues, laughing because Jonathan is. "Six eight nine." 

"I guess I drink then." Jonathan smiles something so sweet, it twists hard into Steve's chest. He takes a full swig, and Steve follows his throat as he swallows. He blames the sweaty palms on the alcohol.

"Your turn." 

"Never have I ever had an orgy." 

"Ha!" Steve points across the short two feet separating their beds. "Me neither, you fuck. Not as big of a slut as you thought, huh?" 

"No," Jonathan says, too composed for Steve's liking. "I just don't want you drinking any more." 

"I am not drunk," Steve says, matter of fact. "I don't do that anymore." 

"Oh really?" 

Steve clears his throat, "Yeah. I'm a tasteful drinker." 

"At twenty." 

"I'm only a year away, shut up," Steve slides down almost off the bed, so the blood is rushing towards his head, "Never have I ever been two months younger than me." His head starts to hurt, so he sits back up. Jonathan is looking at him weirdly. He's smiling, so it can't be bad. 

 “I am not drinking to that.”

 "Fair enough," Steve says, and takes a drink instead. 

He flips back around, and looks up and at a weird stain on the wall. Even if it's a Super 8, it's still the nicest room they've had. They're on the fourth floor, and they can see out, almost to the ocean. But it's past midnight, and now all the window shows is the street lights. 

The bedside radio starts to fuzz out. Jonathan leans over and smacks it with his fist. He starts to change the station, but Steve sits up, "Wait wait-" 

"What?" 

Steve grins, "This is a great song." 

Jonathan gives him a look, "Are you serious?"

 _Baby Be Mine_ plays static through the speakers. 

"You can't just skip MJ dude." Steve bobs along, "King of Pop." 

"Pop is dead." 

"Untrue," Steve sets his cup aside so he can dance without spilling anything. "I was raised on this shit. Jackson Five, Diana Ross, Smokey Robinson." 

Jonathan starts laughing, "So much is starting to make sense." 

Steve stands up, "Dance with me." 

"You're drunk." 

Steve takes the drink out of his hand, and sets it aside, "Maybe." 

Jonathan looks mildly horrified, but he's smiling anyways, so Steve pulls on his arm and makes a face so he'll laugh. 

"Steve- no-"  

Steve yanks him over to the free floorspace between the beds and the T.V. stand. He plants a hand up on his waist, and clasps his right hand in Jonathan's left. The room is not very bright, with only one lamp on, the window open for a breeze, so Steve has to be careful when he starts moving them around the room. 

Jonathan is stiff, obviously embarrassed, but he keeps tucking his head to laugh, so Steve swings him around. Jonathan's hand flies to his shoulder. 

"Loosen up dude," Steve grins. "Back and forth, totally easy." 

"I'm not sober, give me a break," Jonathan huffs. Steve laughs, and when he tries to spin him, Jonathan goes to step on his foot. "Don't even try." 

"It's fine, you can step on me," Steve says. "I'm a great dancer. Obviously." 

"I never- I never went to the school dances. I thought they were overrated." 

Jonathan refuses to spin, so Steve twirls around instead. Jonathan cracks a smile again, and he's looser now. Willing to go where Steve takes them. 

"Me too."

Stupid - it really is stupid. There's questionable stains on the carpet, and the T.V. has a crack down the side, and the window doesn't close all the way, but the radio sings MJ, and they can smell the ocean out there, and Jonathan's hand loosens on his shoulder, slipping down to his arm, and it's so, so much better than any party they could've gone to. 

 He doesn't realize that the song has switched, until Jonathan's forehead lolls against his shoulder. They've slowed down, not really dancing, just rocking back and forth to some Elton John song. 

It should be weird, but it's not. Steve should be freaking out, pulling away, not bringing him closer. Not tucking his hand behind his belt loops, or threading their fingers together, or any of this, he shouldn't be doing. But frankly, Steve just doesn't care. 

"Are you tired?" Steve asks. 

Jonathan's hand comes down from his arm, and curls around the back of his waist. 

"No." 

Steve nods, and hums along to the song, still slowly rocking back and forth. The light flickers, and they flinch a little. They’re close enough that Steve can smell his shampoo. Steve keeps humming, and Jonathan softly snorts. 

“Even after all the music I showed you. You’ve still got shit taste.” 

Steve quietly laughs, and rocks them to the beat, “You’ll just have to keep trying.”

A pause. Jonathan’s hand curls into his lower back. 

"When are we going to talk about this?" 

"About what?" 

His head lifts from Steve's shoulder, and oh, they're much closer than they were before. The air feels tight.

"About this." 

Steve lowers his voice, like it'll stop the world around them. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about." 

Jonathan smiles, "You're always staring at me." 

"So!  _You_ are always staring at  _me-_ oh." Steve stops short, and puts two and two together. Jonathan's hand pulls out of his. Steve is left grasping at air, as that hand comes up behind his head, and pulls him down closer. 

They’re not kissing yet, but they’re close enough to. Jonathan hesitates - and Steve pauses, so they're staring right at the other. They could stop now, and nothing would change. Everything would be as it was.

Steve feels his heart in his throat - he wants to kiss him, he really, really wants to kiss him - 

Jonathan is the one to brave the space between them.

Yeah, okay, he might be riding the high off all that liquid confidence. But  _this -_ this Steve feels clearly. Crystal fuckin' clear, he'll remember this, and nothing can make him regret kissing back. He squeezes Jonathan hard and close and sighs deep. Fingers dig into his neck, and they both taste like rum and coke, and Steve feels the hair on his arms stand on end. 

 They deepen the kiss together, and the floor drops out beneath Steve’s feet.

Like a snapped bow string, all the days they've spent sharing the same car, the same room, the same  _bed -_ it's cracked with enough force to make Steve smile against his lips, and dig his hands into the curve of Jonathan's waist like they were made to fit there.

The radio drowns out into white noise. Fingers curl from his neck to his hair, and the short height difference feels nonexistent. 

Jonathan kisses like a whirlwind, so in your face, unrelenting and willing to fight. Where Steve pushes, Jonathan shoves back. When Steve licks into his mouth, Jonathan sucks down and takes.

Steve leads them toward Jonathan's bed, and they go down hard, the bedsprings squeaking - but Jonathan's grip is iron behind his neck, and he's kissing like his life depends on it, so Steve's brainpower goes towards kissing back. 

Oh god, Jonathan lets out a soft sound Steve didn't think he was even capable of. Steve feels his heart drop into his stomach, and he scrambles to crawl up him on the bed, so he can prop an arm by his head and eat him alive. 

 

- **J** -

 

 Jonathan wakes up to the sun in his face. He squints over at the window that they (Steve) stupidly left open. The street below is loud and bustling with cars; the occasional motorcycle revs by, shaking the walls. 

Jonathan tries to move, but there's a very heavy, very asleep Steve curled into him, so Jonathan looks up at the ceiling, and takes a deep breath. This is fine. Everything's fine. 

It's not that he doesn't remember. The problem is, he remembers  _everything._ He remembers Steve pulling him off his bed and dancing around the room like it was Hairspray. He remembers the smile on his face, the hand braced solid at his back. And Jonathan remembers thinking that he'll die, absolutely die, if he didn't kiss him right there and then. 

Nothing happened. Well, they made out until they passed out - so, that might be something. 

Jonathan feels a small prick at the back of his head telling him to mildly panic, but he really wants to press his face into that warm spot between Steve's shoulder and his neck, so he does. Mm, yes. Good decision. 

Steve hums, stirring awake, and brings his arms around to squeeze them closer. Their legs are sticking together from the heat, their jeans kicked to the floor, and Steve is without a shirt, so Jonathan runs a hand down his side, and smiles when it tickles him. Goddammit, he's cute. 

"Hmmm?" 

"Good morning." Please don't freak out. Please don't freak out. 

"Hiii," Steve drawls, hand sliding up his shoulder blades. His fingers dig into his spine, and Jonathan almost moans at how good it feels. "Sleep okay?" 

"Yeah," Jonathan pulls his face away, so they're sharing the pillow again. "This poor bed." 

"It's a shame we paid for two," Steve looks over, at where his twin sits still made. Jonathan hums, and stares at the spot under Steve’s jaw, where stubble is forming. 

Jonathan clears his throat, "Do you um...remember..." 

"Of course," Steve yawns, and starts to stretch, but he freezes halfway. He looks to Jonathan, now wide eyed, "You don't regret kissing me, do you?" 

"No!" Jonathan says, too quickly, and feels his face go hot. He repeats, calmer this time, "Um. No." 

"That's good," Steve relaxes, and starts to sit up. "Because I kind of really like you." 

Jonathan gapes, "You  _do?"_

"Uh, yeah??" 

Holy shit. Jonathan stares at the wall, and goes through the five stages of grief as his brain starts to turn on. He's not sure what he was expecting - not sure what he was thinking, even, but - 

"Don't you think this is a bad idea?" Jonathan blurts, because it is. It's a horrible idea. Whatever they're doing. 

Steve gives that lopsided smile that fucked Jonathan in the first place. 

"This entire trip was a bad idea. Everything we've ever done has been a bad idea." 

Touche. 

Steve leans over to kiss him, and Jonathan winces from the bad breath, but the soft slide of Steve's bottom lip is well worth it. Jonathan can't resist bringing a hand up to trace his jaw.

When they pull away, Jonathan mumbles, "I feel like we should talk." 

"Lucky we have all day then, yeah?" Steve rolls out of bed, and pads into the bathroom, and Jonathan almost falls off the bed trying to watch him shave. 

 

\- -

 

_“Hi mom.”_

_”Yeah, we’re doing great.”_

_"Yeah.”_

_"Uh-huh.”_

_"Mhm, we should start driving back tomorrow.”_

_"That sounds nice. Tell Will I’ll bring him back something.”_

_”Okay, love you._ ”

 

\- -

 

They throw whatever they need for the day in the back of the car, and find a local diner to have breakfast. It's near the sand, the sidewalk bustling with people, but the diner is cool with air conditioning. It’s upbeat, with the pink booths and the neon lights. 

Jonathan takes pictures of the sign, and then of Steve as he slides into the booth. They get coffee and bagels and stare out the window to the beach. The fog hasn't left yet, but it's still beautiful. Jonathan eyes his camera beside him on the table, but resists, for his film's sake. 

Steve has been quiet this morning. He's stirring another cup of creamer in his coffee, and it's no longer black, but a near tan color. 

"If you didn't mean it, I understand." Steve says, out of nowhere. 

"About last night?" 

"Yeah. You were drunk, so-" 

"Of course I meant it," Jonathan says, eyebrows pushed together. He then looks away and sighs, fixing his hair, "I just don't know if I should." 

Steve clinks his spoon against the side of his mug, and chews on his cheek. He didn't style his hair today, thank god, because it's so, so much cuter when its left all curly and in the way. 

"When I invited you, I..." Steve starts, and then scratches behind his neck, "I really just wanted to be friends. I thought, like, If I locked you in a car for thirty hours you'd  _have_ to like me." 

Jonathan cracks a smile, "That’s some psychopath shit." 

"Shut up. Like, you had no friends. I had no friends. We've both gone toe to toe with a maneating plant monster. That's friendship worthy, right?" 

"Right, okay. I can see the logic." Jonathan gestures, "But you didn't have to do all this." 

Steve shrugs, "Like I said. We needed a vacation." He then laughs, "I just didn't expect - I dunno. You to be so cute. I realized that I never got to know you, until now." 

Jonathan feels his face go warm, so he hides it behind a sniff. He rubs at his cheek, as if he could scratch the color away, "Oh." 

"Sorry," Steve lowers his voice. "Shit, I just -" 

"I used to like you," Jonathan says, cutting him off. "Back in middle school." 

Steve's jaw drops. 

"But in highschool," Jonathan breaks off a piece of his bagel, and smiles, "I fucking hated you." 

His face sobers, and he nods, "Right." 

"But then-" Jonathan pops the bread in his mouth and chews, "- I watched you whack that maneating plant monster with a baseball bat, and take a beating to protect a handful of kids. And then I  _really_ liked you." 

It's Steve's turn to flush, "Oh..." 

Jonathan’s heartbeat is in his ears as he says, " I'm really - I just never thought any of this could happen. Probably for a reason." 

"I get it," Steve says. He sits up a little, "But I don't want it to end when we go back home. I think we - I think we should try. Being a thing." 

"We can't,Steve. Hawkins-" 

"Can mind their own business. We don't have to tell anybody." 

"But won't you  _want_ to?" 

"Of course, but-" 

"And do you even think we'll last? You and me, we're, we're a mess." 

"We haven't killed each other yet," Steve says, which is a valid argument. 

Jonathan lets out a sigh, and presses his face into his hands, groaning, "Fuck- I wanna' kiss you." 

There’s a pause, long enough for them to hear Supertramp in the background.

A foot nudges against his. Jonathan looks up through his fingers. Steve is grinning all goofy, as he lifts his keys. 

"Let me take you on a date." 

 

- **S** -

 

To their luck, the fog burns off by noon. 

Steve leads him out to the sand, to an even better spot than yesterday, closer to the ocean, far from other people. This time, Steve is adamant about getting Jonathan in the water, so he chucks off his shirt and pulls on his arm until Jonathan comes running after. 

"It's cold!" He yells, and Steve shouts  _I know!_ and yips when a wave cracks up to their waists. 

There's people boogie-boarding along the bigger waves, but Steve wades his way in, and tries to avoid the seaweed. Jonathan is right behind him, laughing, "So you won't swim in a motel pool, but you'll dive right into the ocean. Right, okay.” 

"You're comparing apples and oranges dude." 

Jonathan rolls his eyes, and Steve can't help but grab him around the waist, and spin him into the water. 

_"Steve!"_

"What?~ No one can see!" 

Jonathan turns around and tackles him into a wave, and they both sputter from the salt when they rise.

Steve shows him how to ride the waves back to shore. Jonathan refuses, says something about  _breaking his head on the rocks,_ but Steve calls him a baby and moves on. When they're tired they sit back up on the towels. Jonathan puts more sunscreen on, but Steve just flops back on the sand, and soaks in the sun. He peaks open an eye when he feels a hand gently comb through his hair. 

He can't read Jonathan’s face through his sunglasses, but his fingers curl behind his ears, and it feels so good, Steve angles himself so his head is closer to his legs. There's still people around, so Steve doesn't crawl into his lap like he'd want to - but Jonathan keeps his hand in his hair, and reaches for his book with the other, and its perfect.

They haven't figured everything out. And that's okay. 

Steve gets them ice cream, and Jonathan buys lunch. It's an easy walk to the pier, so they sit out by the edge and talk about old cartoons and shitty movies.

To Steve's surprise, Jonathan is more interested in the tourist shops than he is. They walk up and down the strand, poking in different stores. Jonathan takes pictures of the ugly souvenirs - and Steve finally convinces Jonathan to let him hold the camera for once. He takes a great photo;  Jonathan up in the back of a shop, dressed in a big sunhat and star sunglasses. Jonathan gets a shark keychain for Will. Steve buys a seashell necklace and Jonathan hardcore judges him for it, but whatever, Steve thinks its cool. It’s cool, right?

By the time the sun starts to set, the breeze rolls in, and Jonathan shivers behind a clothing rack. 

"Pick out a sweatshirt, dude," Steve points. 

"No. I have a jacket at the motel." 

"We're still going to get dinner," Steve holds up a pink  _Newport_ sweatshirt, "Just pick one." 

"Okay, well, not that," Jonathan rummages through a rounder. He picks up a brown one, and Steve rolls his eyes. 

"Surprise surprise." 

"I'll buy it." 

"Nope," Steve plucks it out of his hand, "It's not a gift if you buy it for yourself." 

"Romantic," Jonathan grins, but lets him pay. He shrugs it on, and it's a little big, so he rolls up the sleeves. Steve is sure to tell him how cute he looks - and he gets elbowed for it too. 

 

Only once they're away from the crowds, does Steve let his hand brush against the back of Jonathan’s knuckles. Steve smiles when fingers curl into his and squeeze- only for a moment, before pulling away. 

 

- **J** - 

 

As fun as the beach was, Jonathan is still happy to get back and shower. He figures it'd be moving too fast to ask Steve if he could join - but Jonathan doesn't want to leave him, even for a few minutes. Like the bubble will burst, and everything will go back to how it was before. Gross, he sounds thirteen.

Jonathan washes the sand out his hair, and pulls on the sweats he's been sleeping in. They should probably find a laundromat soon. 

When Jonathan opens the door, Steve is waiting to sweep an arm around and kiss him. Jonathan lets out a surprised noise, but smiles into the kiss. He's not sure how to handle the way Steve shows affection so easily - it should feel too fast, there should be a million alarms ringing around his head - but instead, he reaches up to curl a strand of hair behind Steve's ear, and it feels right. 

Steve leans back and grins, "Great to be alone again, yeah?" 

"You could say that," Jonathan pulls away to put his clothes back in his bag. Steve bounces onto his bed. 

"Did you have fun?" 

"Yes, actually. I'm almost out of film." 

"You can probably pick up some when we stop for gas tomorrow." 

"Right," Jonathan nods. Tomorrow. They head home. He slowly sits on his bed, and looks back out the window. 

"Hey." 

"Hm?" 

"So...?" 

"So what?" 

"Do you wanna try this?" Steve gestures between them, "Us? I didn’t fuck up that bad, right? I only spilled ice cream on myself like, once." 

It won't always be sunshine and rainbows and sweet beach sand. But the honest look on Steve's puppydog face makes Jonathan think, it might be worth it. 

He wordlessly opens his arms, and Steve crosses over to his bed. Jonathan scoops him up and falls back, bringing Steve with him, so he can kiss his face, forehead to cheek to nose, until Steve is giggling when he kisses down his neck. 

 “Yeah,” Jonathan says, and presses his lips to the mole on his throat. "Yeah." 

 

- **S** -

 

He's so so so, so relieved, he can't stop kissing Jonathan's dumb face. Yes, they have to get up and leave tomorrow, but they're squished on one of the twin beds, laughing because they keep accidentally bumping their heads on the wall, and kneeing the other in the side. 

There's a part of him that's scared. But another part that really just, wants to bury itself in someone else. Stop eating alone at Benny's, stop sitting in an empty house after work. Talk to someone who cares what he has to say. Hold their hand and be selfish.

Jonathan's hands trace his face like they're trying to memorize him. Under his eyes and down his jaw. Steve uses his free hand to slide under Jonathan's Newport sweatshirt, and he feels his stomach inhale at the touch. Their lips are a little cracked from the sun and the salt, but the kisses feel sticky and soft anyways. Kissing a boy is so different from a girl - they'd both know - but Steve isn't sure if it's any better or worse. 

Blunt nails dig into his back, and Steve involuntarily shivers. He pulls back and opens his eyes to see Jonathan staring back, red faced and determined, and Steve tries not to have a crisis. 

Jonathan just tugs harder on his hair, mumbling  _cm'ere,_ and hooks a leg behind his thigh. 

 

\--

 

The open road is bittersweet. They're back to Jonathan's first mixtape, back to the red deserts and the traffic and the ghost towns. 

It feels too soon, but also, kinda' not. Steve is at peace with their dying vacation.

There's another long silence between them, but it's not awkward. He can feel Jonathan watching him as he drives, arm propped up by the window, so Steve reaches over to thread their fingers together. 

"Hands on the wheel," Jonathan snaps lazily, but doesn't pull his hand away. 

"Watch, no handed," Steve props his knee under the wheel, and laughs when Jonathan jolts. Steve grabs the wheel again just to make him relax. 

"Asshole.” 

Steve sticks out his tongue, and Jonathan turns up the music. 

They switch after lunch. Jonathan drives them through most of Arizona, before the sun starts to set. They've only got enough money for one more night at a motel, so they find a car park again, and fold back the seats. But this time- Steve pulls them into the back, and Jonathan straddles his lap with a fever Steve can't get enough of. 

Steve pushes Jonathan's jeans down beneath his ass, and noses into the side of his throat. The car kinda' smells like the cigarette he smoked earlier, but the windows are starting to fog from their breath. 

Steve kisses under his jaw,  "What do you think Nancy would say? Of us?" 

Jonathan shrugs, and lifts his hips to help, "She'll probably laugh." 

"Do you think she'd be mad?" 

"No," Jonathan says, and lets Steve peel his shirt away. "She never minded that part of me." 

Steve freezes, hand halfway into his pants. "You told her?" 

"Yeah?" 

It's not that he's jealous. Not of their relationship, but maybe that Jonathan is way braver than Steve ever was. 

Jonathan's hand starts to undo his jeans, and Steve's thought process flies out the window. 

"She wouldn't mind," Jonathan says, and kisses him. 

 

- **J** -

 

They brush their teeth with bottled water, and Jonathan sits on the car to get pictures of the sunrise. Blankets and pillows are thrown back in the trunk, and then they're on their way again. 

They don't find a town in New Mexico with a McDonalds until eleven, so they're half starved by the time they get there. They get an entire bag of fries for the road, and Jonathan starts to miss having a kitchen with, you know, real food. Steve apparently couldn't care less, because he eats two big macs without even batting an eye. 

They have another argument over the map, and end up on the wrong freeway. 

_"There's literally a gas station right there, we can stop and ask someone."_

_"Dude, no, I've got it-"_

_"We're going the wrong way."_

_"No we're not!"_

Yes, they are. But they still end up in Oklahoma, so, whatever. Jonathan hasn't called home in a couple days, so when they pull into Lawton, he uses his last few quarters and dials the number he knows by heart. 

Steve is there waiting, smoking against the post of the convenience store. A dog comes waddling by with their owner, and Steve nearly trips over himself to go pet it. 

_"Jonathan? Jonathan-"_

"Sorry, sorry," he turns, smiling, "I'm here." 

_"Is everything okay?"_

"Yeah," Jonathan shifts the phone to his other ear, and watches Steve scratch the dog behind it's ears. "We're doing good." 

 

They're both in need of a shower, so they decide to spend their last good chunk of change on a shared queen. They drop their stuff in the room - it's not too bad, actually - and go in hunt of a place to grab dinner. They find a hole in the wall place, stuff that smells like a home cooked meal, and they're willing to wait the thirty minutes to get in. 

It's full, but they get a table shoved in the back corner, away from most of the commotion. The less eyes, the better.

"No no no," Steve gestures with his fork, "Kahn was  _the_ guy. The. bad guy. Superhuman blood, undeniable urge to extinct the human race. He was a hundred, billion times worse than the Klingons." 

Jonathan can't stop smiling. "Oh my god." 

"What?" Steve chews. 

"You're a huge nerd." 

Steve rolls his eyes, "Everyone grew up watching Star Trek." 

“Everyone is subjective.” 

“Everyone with  _taste_.”

"You know they're doing another show with a different cast, right?" 

"Yeah, it's sacrilegious." 

"I'm glad we can agree on something," Jonathan says, and pauses to take a bite of pot pie. Steve plays with that one damn strand of hair that is always perfectly in place (which Jonathan now knows he styles on purpose), and then pokes his fork into a salad.  

"Is that any good?" Steve asks. 

"The pie?" 

"Yeah. My mom used to make them, but they were always pretty shit." 

"It's okay," Jonathan shrugs. "My mom never made them right either." He takes a forkful, and holds it up, "Try it." 

Steve leans over the table, and eats right off his fork. He chews, "You do most of the cooking, don't ya - oh, this is good." 

"Yeah," Jonathan takes another forkful, and holds it up for Steve. "I've never tried making a pie though." 

Steve takes another bite, and sits back in his chair, "I make kickass macaroni and cheese." 

Jonathan laughs, "Oh? You boil that water real good, do you?" 

"Oh yeah, and when I add the cheese? It's a-" 

"Excuse me." 

They jump slightly, and turn to the end of their table. There's a man, tall, wearing an apron over a grease stained shirt. He's got beady eyes and a MOM tattoo. He makes Jonathan think of like, an evil Benny, and he immediately tenses. 

"Yeah?" Steve says, oh-so eloquently.

"I'm gonna have to ask you both to leave." 

Steve's eyebrows push together, and he opens his mouth, but Jonathan asks first, "Why?" 

"We don't serve your kind here." 

Oh god. 

Steve crosses his arms, "Our kind? What, a paying customer? We're just eating." 

The guy stares them down, "This is a family friendly establishment. You need to go." 

Steve makes a disgusted face, and Jonathan feels his heart start to sink. They're not even home - still a full day away until they reach Hawkins, but they can't even share half a meal without being reminded of this shit. 

"Whatever," Jonathan stands. "We're not paying for this." 

"So long as you leave." 

"No," Steve stands too, sticking out an arm, "We're staying." 

Jonathan can feel the eyes starting to look their way. 

"You have ten seconds," the man starts, "for you queers to leave my damn restaurant." 

 

- **S** - 

 

The yellowing tub smells like bleach, and yes, thats an oxymoron. Steve can at least give the motel staff kudos for trying. The nozzle drips a little, and it sounds loud in the tiny bathroom. 

Jonathan presses an iced sandwich baggie to Steve’s big, beautiful new black eye, and Steve flinches away from it. 

“Ow! Not so hard.”

"You're a fucking moron," Jonathan grits, perched next to him on the edge of the tub. 

"Yeah, I got that," Steve says, and flinches away from the ice again. 

"We could've just left." 

"We shouldn't have to! And he punched me first!" 

"You edged him on." 

"He called us-" 

"That's what  _everyone_ will call us!" Jonathan yells, and Steve goes cold. "That's what you got yourself into! That's - this is what you  _asked for!"_

The words bounce around the bathroom walls like a ping pong ball. Steve pulls his head away, and looks towards the opposite wall. Jonathan's hands fall into his lap. Steve chews on the inside of his cheek, and tries to pretend that didn't hurt as bad as it did. His eye throbs. 

Jonathan scrubs a hand through his hair and sighs, leaning over on his elbows, "I'm sorry." 

"No- you're, you're right," Steve says. "It's just not fair." 

"Life isn't fair, I guess," Jonathan says, and brings a hand up to push Steve's hair behind his ears. The motion makes Steve’s heart ache. Steve leans into his hand, and lets those cold fingers trace around his black eye. Jonathan's voice goes low, and it wavers, "It's not too late. We can go back to how it was." 

"Alright, now you're being the idiot," Steve snaps, taking the ice pack out of his hand, and pressing it to his own damn face. "Like hell we will." 

 Jonathan's eyes crinkle with the start of a smile. Steve can't help but smooth the lines with his thumb. 

"Well, the jokes on them. I ate most of that pie anyways." 

 

- **J** -

 

Steve sleeps like a log. He likes to cuddle, arms like an iron grip, and Jonathan sweats half the night, so he lets Steve hog the covers. At least they're not in a twin anymore. When Steve wakes up his hair is sticking skyward like straw, and his breath smells horrible, but he's sleepy and soft, and he lets Jonathan trace the stubble on his cheek, so that's a plus. 

It’s a little douchy, but Jonathan likes that Steve sleeps shirtless. Jonathan leans over to press a kiss into his sternum, and he's rewarded with a happy hum. He looks up, and his stomach burns a little when he sees the black eye. Idiot. 

Jonathan would like to think that he's past all the horny highschool BS, but there's something about Steve Harrington that makes him just want to bury himself between his legs and die. So Jonathan rolls over and leans up to kiss him, ignoring the morning breath. A hand immediately slides down the front of his boxers, and Jonathan sighs into his mouth, shivering when warm fingers grip him loose and lazy. 

"Gmornin," Steve slurs, and yanks Jonathan's boxers to his knees. 

"Hi," Jonathan swallows, and kicks off the shorts, so he can throw a leg over Steve's stomach and straddle him right. Steve looks like he got his cake and ate it too, because he smiles sleepy and goofy, and spits into his hand, before he wraps a hand around his cock and squeezes hard. Jonathan's brain momentarily shorts - but he reaches behind him to squeeze between Steve's legs, and he laughs when Steve seizes. 

Jonathan thinks that he's going to miss waking up together, because he's started to enjoy Steve's morning routine. He brushes his teeth as he puts on his jeans, jumping around the room as he does it. He spends fifteen minutes slicking his hair with hairspray, making sure that one curl is  _just_ right - and then he shaves with a lazy precision that takes Jonathan twice as long. Jonathan is still too tingly and sated to get up, but Steve comes in and nearly drags him out of bed, so Jonathan is left without a choice. 

They should get to Hawkins by late tonight. Jonathan isn't sure if he's happy or sad about that. The real world is back, with jobs and rent and nightmares of stuff that should only be in movies. 

Steve stretches his arms above his head and yawns, green tee riding up as he leans from side to side, before he pulls out a cigarette and lights it with an easy flick from his lighter. All Jonathan has to do is point to his lips, before Steve is leaning off the car, grabbing the back of his head and tipping it to float smoke into his lungs. 

Steve’s free arm comes around to his waist, his hand possessive and heavy on Jonathan’s side. 

Steve smiles, "Ready to go home?" 

Jonathan pulls him in by his belt-loops, "I'll take first shift." 

 

- **S** -

 

It's all green grass, rolling hills and flowers. Steve takes pictures from the passenger seat - of Jonathan driving, and horrible, blurry pictures of the landscape. Jonathan tries to teach him about the focus and the blah blah, whatever, push button, take picture, got it. 

His eye hurts, and he's not exactly excited to explain it to his dad, but he enjoys his last day of freedom. The stereo is turned up; it’s Joy Division. See, Steve can learn. He likes this song, so they've played this mixtape a few more times than the other ones.  Bored, Steve tries to pick through one of Jonathan's books, but he ends up turning down the radio, and telling Jonathan about crazy old relatives and last year's Christmas. Jonathan talks about his dad - about this uncle he has, on his moms side, who had a peg leg - and suddenly they're stopping for gas, halfway there in no time. 

Steve is like, completely obsessed with this loose, trusting side of Jonathan. He tugs on his sleeve, kisses the side of his throat, and he's red while he does it, and Steve  _loves it,_ lord, Steve loves it. He finds himself wishing they were home faster, so he can tuck his hand in his back pocket and watch shitty movies together and not be forced away by a middle car console. 

After lunch, Steve takes over behind the wheel. Jonathan must be just as antsy as he is, because his left hand sneaks over onto Steve’s right leg, as he closes his eyes and lolls his head against the headrest. 

Steve looses himself in the stereo, and the rows of trees, and the fingers that trace up and down the inseam of his thigh. He almost forgets to switch freeways. 

Naturally, Steve's head floats to this morning; Jonathan half asleep/half naked in his lap, lips trembling against his own as he shivered - Steve suddenly jumps, "You - cheater!" 

Jonathan grins, eyes now open, and pops the top button of Steve’s jeans. "Eyes on the road. "

 _"Eyes on the-_ you're a little shit." 

"And you’re hard," Jonathan states, matter of fact. 

"Thanks for pointing that out." 

"Just watch the road," Jonathan says, looking around for any cars, before he undoes his seatbelt and leans over to blow him while they're  _fucking driving oh g-_

"-god oh god oh god we're gonna' crash, we're gonna crash and die," Steve chants, trying so, so hard not to look down when Jonathan pulls out his dick and swallows around him like it's no big deal. 

Jonathan's head bobs with the tremble of the car, and Steve's knuckles go white on the steering wheel.  _Under Pressure_ plays from the stereo, totally mocking him. 

 It’s messy - of course it is, it’s not like Steve is expecting some expert on road-head, but the everything about this is just so hot, Steve feels it all the way in his spine. 

Fingers dig into his thigh for purchase, and Jonathan swallows back spit, and it’s so fucking lewd, Steve might die if he can’t watch. But there’s no place to pull over, and Jonathan starts to use his tongue, and Steve has to bite into his fist to short a moan. The road slightly bumps, and Jonathan makes a short noise when he nearly chokes, and Steve feels a too familiar twist in his stomach. 

 If he was expected to last, well, ha-ha, that sucks. 

"Oh shit, oh shit-" Steve stares straight ahead, and sets a hand on Jonathan's shoulder to warn him. He pulls back, and pops open the glove compartment to spit into a napkin. Steve is left trying to blink away the resounding throb behind his eyes and down to his toes -  so he slows down a little just to be safe. Steve pulls up his fly one handed and turns to glare Jonathan's way - but he's just slouched against the window, smug and self-satisfied. 

Steve looks back to the road, and points to his lips, "Kiss me, you fuck."  Jonathan does, reaching over the console, and carefully kissing him, open mouthed and still sticky. 

 

- **J** -

 

It gets quiet when the sun goes down, and the  _Hawkins, 30 mi_ sign comes rushing by. Jonathan plays with the fraying hole in his jeans, and tries not to think about the pit in his stomach. He's excited to see Will and his mom and his dog, and finally  sleep in his bed, but there's this impending worry that when they reach home, whatever fairy-tale spell they're under will stop at midnight. 

It's late when the headlights flash the welcome sign. Jonathan presses his head against the window, and watches the familiar roads wind past the trees. He still gets a foul taste in his mouth whenever he passes the quarry. 

Jonathan's heart is in his stomach, and he's starting to get mad about it. Everything's fine, it's - 

The car stops. 

His house is out there, right up the driveway, with the patched hole in the wall, and the rotted porch swing. It's dark, and it gets darker when Steve turns the engine off. The radio goes with it, and now its the worst kind of silence. 

"I guess this is it, huh?" Steve asks.  

"Yeah." 

There's a short pause. Jonathan starts to zip up the small bag by his feet. 

"Listen-" 

"I really-" 

They stop. Steve laughs, and Jonathan runs a hand through his hair and smiles. 

"You first." 

"No you." 

"Thanks," Jonathan says. "For taking me. And paying for most of it." 

"No problem," Steve says, and brings a hand up to his bruised eye. "Thanks for uh - putting up with me." 

"It was good, for me, I think," Jonathan says, and he feels his face start to burn because he doesn't quite know how to say it, but he settles on, "Getting away. You know I - I always - I couldn't handle the thought of leaving town for so long. Like if, if something happened again and I wasn't there..." 

"I know," Steve says, honest. 

Jonathan nods, and goes to look in the back for his other bag, but Steve grabs his wrist. 

"I had a really good time," Steve says, like they just went on a date to the movies, and they didn't just share the same air for seven days. Jonathan turns back to glare at him. He squints angrily, before he reaches over and grabs Steve by the collar, so he can wipe that stupid look off his face with his mouth. 

Steve kisses him back, and the weird, tense air leaves with the hard exhale from them both. Steve braces a hand behind his neck, and Jonathan twists his fingers into the collar of his shirt, and they kiss like they're in highschool again. 

When they pull apart, Steve whispers  _call me,_ and Jonathan breaks out laughing. He gathers his bags, and his books, and his camera, and he stands on his front porch and waves, as Steve's Volvo peels out of the driveway, and onto the road. 

 

- **S** - 

 

The house is empty when Steve gets home. There's no cars in the driveway, so Steve doesn't bother trying to tip-toe around. 

He dumps the blankets and the pillows on the couch, and throws his bag to the floor. The living room is untouched. Steve patters around the kitchen and hunts down a clean glass. He gets water from the fridge, and leans up against the kitchen counter. He yawns, and rubs his eyes, but stops and immediately scowls when he remembers that he has work tomorrow. 

Numbly, he reaches up to trace around the black eye. Maybe if he calls Max, she might have some makeup to cover it up. Or she can steal some from her mom. Not that he condones stealing. 

It's too quiet. There's no radio, no engine - but the sink still drips, and the house still feels too big. Steve numbly sets down the glass, and goes to walk upstairs. 

 

 

The phone rings. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i cant believe im writing for them again but my roommate is an enabler and i love them 
> 
>  


End file.
